Lalley: No light leads to frantic night

Survival kit quells storm

Apr. 11, 2013

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The second night of no power descended on The Best Little City in America.

A winter storm emits its own glow no matter the month, which is greater than the sum of the particles of light consumed. The folding blind over the picture window glowed with a subtle golden hue. I lay on the couch and watched as the tint darkened without completely fading away.

Outside, ice-encased branches clattered together in the wind.

Over our ancient transistor radio, which has served us through more than two decades of natural disaster, Dan Gladden’s crusty voice commented on a particularly poorly executed bunt by a Minnesota Twins player, whose name I didn’t recognize, as the team played to a shutout loss in the drizzle in Kansas City.

Then, almost imperceptibly in the background, across the street, a portable generator started a low throb, and I promised in my drowsy haze to never, ever walk past those magic machines in the hardware store again.

How much would I pay, at just this moment, for heat and at least a little light and a microwave?

Ms. Hyphenation and I survived the first night of the Ice Storm of the Century relatively unscathed. Though we didn’t have electricity, our west-side home stayed survivably warm with an extra blanket or two. Navigation was possible with the aid of what turned out is an impressively strong LED reading light.

The morning was showerless and chilly, but we headed into the dawn with a sense of purpose for our work, serving the public of our fair city.

This is what we do.

But the second night? Let’s just say the romance was gone.

Nerves were frayed. Patience was waning. Discussions over which relatives with power we’d stay with if the power didn’t return added to the sense of frustration.

I’d decided I wanted to stay in my own home, no matter the comfort. It’s in these times of grave challenge that the subconscious scans for solution. We’re logical creatures, and when presented with risk, our brains instinctively search out solution.

And so it was that, with new-found motivation, I began digging through the accumulated gadgets and workout gear in the front closet with a camp light as the temperature slid into the 60s.

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“What are you doing?” said a voice from beyond the reach of my lamp.

Ms. Hyphenation was approaching a snapping point. For a brief few minutes earlier in the evening, the lights came on, the furnace fired and things were looking up. She saw an opening to get in the elusive shower, only to see the lights flicker and fade yet again.

So things were degrading, as you might expect.

“I’m looking for something,” I said without looking up.

“I don’t think mittens are the answer.”

“It’s not mittens.”

“Well, then?”

“Do you remember that survival thing I got in the Christmas exchange a few years ago?”

“Is that rhetorical? Because you can’t think I’d really be able to answer that, do you?”

“I know I saw it the last time we reorganized this closet.”

“You mean 2005?” she said with what I’m pretty sure was a snicker, but since I couldn’t see her, it’s pure speculation. “You probably threw it away.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t,” I said, without tone or hint of reprisal. “In fact, I specifically remember saying, ‘I better keep this hand-cranking flashlight and cellphone charger, you never know when you might need such a thing.’ ”

“Right. You can’t remember what I said this morning, but you can remember that.”

“I know. Weird, isn’t it?”

The shuffle of slippered feet indicated the conversation was over for now. I continued to search with the hum of generators and Dan Gladden in my ears.

There was a sense of futility. What difference would a crank-powered flashlight and cellphone charger really make at this point?

It’s not going to run the furnace. It wasn’t that nice.

But I kept digging through the items. It’s not that it’s a mess — we’re not hoarders, people, don’t get the wrong idea here — but it was dark, and the camp light wasn’t powerful. The simple task of identification was in itself challenging.

Hiking water jug.

Foam roller.

“Welcome to Our Home” plaque made of roofing nails.

Swim cap.

The searching itself was the goal, an occupation of my time that didn’t involve wasting what could be precious iPhone and laptop time by chatting on Facebook using my phone as a hotspot. That’s what I did the first night of outages in a near-rapture stretch of wanton burning of battery power.

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I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Besides, what if I did find it? Imagine, a light that works by cranking and powers cellphones.

It would be Gilligan’s Island over here.

“My brother says they’re home and they have power,” came the voice again.

“It’s only nine,” I said. “The power might come back on.”

“It’s getting cold.”

“I know.”

“My hair is wet.”

“Use a towel.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

I began looking through the plastic bins stacked on the shelf. Scarves. Hats. Tote bags.

And then …

In the back …

In a smallish box with an imitation Swiss Army knife and a collapsible camping cup.

The hand-crank flashlight and cellphone charger. It was smaller than I remembered but still in the box.

I took it to the living room where Ms. Hyphenation was reading a book with the LED light and tore the box open.

She watched silently.

I fumbled with the parts in the dim light.

I cranked.

Nothing.

“It’s broke,” she said.

“Wait. There are buttons.”

I cranked and fiddled.

And suddenly, magically, a beam cast upon the wall.

“Cool!” I exclaimed.

“What are those other parts?” Ms. Hyphenation said.

“Charging cellphones, though I’m pretty sure none that have been made after 2007. Certainly not the iPhone 5.”

“Hmm,” she said, and I could see she was considering something. “Can it run the hair dryer?”

And we both laughed at the thought of it.

“I don’t think so, but we can try.”

We spent the next five or 10 minutes playing with the light as Dexter the Cat watched intently. General agreement was found that it was worth keeping, though the adapters probably could go. Still, you never know when you’ll need to charge a flip phone. An apocalyptic ice storm makes one think of these kinds of things.